by Sy Walker
“She would not dare to force her hand,” he said, defensive at the thought of Charity being bullied in to the life that she so clearly did not want.
“She would, knowing that Charity would not want to disgrace the family by denying an engagement that had been made public,” he said, studying Augustus’s expression as he spoke.
“Does she hate your sister that much?” he asked, feeling anger boil within him.
“No, indeed when she does it, it will come from love,” Jason said, with a fond smile at the thought of his meddling mother.
“I do not understand,” was the only response he could manage.
“You see, my mother is extremely happy in her life. She does not understand that the same life that brings her such joy will bring my sister such misery,” he explained.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, still unsure why Jason had come to him.
“Because I think you and my sister share something special,” he continued.
“How could you know that?” he asked in shock.
“Because I have never heard her talk about a man as she talks about you,” Jason suggested boldly.
“Really?” Augustus said, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face at the thought.
“Are you so surprised,” Jason said with a laugh.
“Yes,” he gasped, thinking about the possibility that the most beautiful, vibrant woman he had ever met might actually care for him.
“If you care for her at all, help her,” Jason said as he turned away, leaving the youngest Daniels brother staring after him with his mouth hanging open.
Chapter 8
Augustus only hesitate a moment before deciding exactly what he needed to do. He rushed to his brother’s room to find him staring at his ledgers.
“Brother, we must talk,” he said as he burst through the door.
“Of course Augustus,” Edmund said, a bit surprised by his brother’s arrival.
“Are you planning to ask for her hand?” he asked with no attempt to hide his true purpose.
“Yes, I do not see why not,” Edmund said with a shrug.
“Please do not,” he asked, not sure what he would do if his brother refused.
“Why on earth not?” Edmund asked, shocked that his brother cared about who he took as a wife.
“Do not do that to her. You will kill her spirit,” he pled.
“I would never do such a thing,” he said, shocked that his brother thought him capable of such a thing.
“I know you would not do it on purpose, but life as your wife would break her. She is too special for that,” Augustus said as he paced back and forth.
“My god, you love her,” Edmund said in awe. He had never thought his brother interested in or capable of loving only one woman.
“I do not see how any man could not,” he answered, unable to deny it.
“Will you ask for her hand?” Edmund asked.
“I do not see how her family would ever approve of me,” Augustus said bitterly.
“We are of the same family and they approve of me,” he said, confused.
“It is not my family name that falls short. I have nothing to offer her,” he said, allowing his own insecurities to color his view.
“If you think life as my wife would break her spirit, then perhaps life with you would make it soar,” Edmund offered.
“What are you saying?” his brother asked.
“I am saying if the lady is willing we will all find a way to weather the scandal,” Edmund said with a smile.
“Brother, I do not know how to thank you,” he said as he embraced his older brother.
“Just be happy, for once in your life,” Edmund said with a knowing smile.
“I intend to be,” Augustus said, imagining a life with Charity by his side.
“What can I do to help?” he offered.
“I have a plan,” he said with a smirk. After a few moments of whispered discussion, Augustus dashed off to make sure that the lady was willing to take part in his carefully crafted plan.
Knowing that she was in her room preparing for the dance, getting to her was a great difficulty. He waited in the hallway until he saw her mother’s maid leave. Then, he entered the empty room next to hers and headed right for the window. With some skill, he swung himself out of that room and through her open window. There, he saw Charity, his love, standing in her golden ball gown. She should have looked worried to have a man swim through her window, but she merely looked amused.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked with a laugh.
“I needed to talk to you,” he said with a shrug.
“So you snuck in my window?” she asked, confused.
“I could not wait,” he said with no race of humor in his voice.
“Well, what is it?” she asked, unsure what else to say.
“Do you love me?” he asked, crossing the space between them and taking her hands in his.
“What? Why would you ask that?” she said as she tried to pull away, embarrassed. Still, he held fast and forced her to face him.
“I talked to your brother. Do you love me?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she said as she stared unblinkingly in to his eyes.
“Really?” he asked, shocked that she admitted it so quickly.
“I am not a liar. Still, I know you have no desire for a relationship,” she said, looking resigned.
“Yes I do,” he said, smiling at her.
“What?” she gasped.
“I do,” he said, a little hurt that she did not believe him.
“You want a wife?” she asked skeptically.
“I want you,” he said as he pulled her in to his arms.
“You would never be happy settled down and I will not do that to you,” she said, shaking her head.
“Who says we need to settle down? You can travel the world with me. I can show you all the places I have told you about. When we aren't abroad, we will live in the country. We will ride and explore and have a new adventure every day of our lives. I will never ask you to change,” he said, becoming nervous that he might not be able to convince her of his sincerity.
“Why? Why would you do that for me?” she asked, needing to know.
“Because I love you too! “He cried in frustration.
“What do we do now? “She asked with a laugh of relief.
“Do you ride in that thing?” he said, gesturing to her gown.
“Why?” she asked, puzzled.
“Because I think it would be the perfect dress for you to become my wife in,” he said, smiling at the expression of joy that filled her eyes at his words. “Come on. The horses are ready.”
“Why are the horses ready?” she asked, though the smirk on her face told him that she already knew the answer.
“Because we are eloping. Do you mind?” he asked, realizing that he had not thought about the kind of wedding she might have planned for herself.
“Not at all. I just wish my brother could be there,” she said, looking a little sad as she walked towards the door.
“He and Valeria are waiting with my brother in the stable,” he said as he followed her.
“My goodness,” she said, touched that he had thought to include both of their families.
“Will you walk through this life with me?” he asked, taking her hand in his.
“I cannot think of anyone I would rather take the journey with,” she said, going up on the tips of her toes to kiss him gently before opening the door and taking the first steps towards their life together.
THE END
A Noble in Time
“Violet, where are you?” Tony yelled, annoyed as he entered the old farm house that she called home to find it empty.
“That was a silly question,” she said with a laugh as she climbed down the ladder from the old attic that she had converted into a painting studio.
“I do not know why you spend all of your time in that attic,” he said, tapping
his toe in annoyance. In his fine Italian suit, he looked completely out of place in her home.
“You know it has the best light for painting,” she said with a sigh, annoyed to be having the same conversation with him yet again. Despite the pain smudges on her face and the old jeans she wore, she was still a vision of loveliness with her sparkling green eyes and black hair.
“It is cramped and dusty,” he said, his hand on his hip as he stared at her in admiration.
“It is cozy,” she said, suddenly looking impatient. “You said you had something good for me,” she reminded him, staring at the frame her had covered in a sheet, propped against the wall in her living room.
“Yes, I came across a portrait that needs your touch,” he said, smiling because he knew that she could not resist the opportunity to work on a portrait from Regency England, her favorite period in art history.
“My touch?” she asked, intrigued, anxious for him to uncover the canvas and show her what he had brought. She loved nothing more than a new challenge. It was a large part of the reason that she had chosen to apply her artistic talents to the world of art restoration. Rescuing these pieces of history was as exciting to her as creating artwork of her own.
“It has been treated poorly, to be sure, but it is amazing. Take a look,” he said as he removed the sheet, revealing the portrait beneath. The woman in the painting was every inch an aristocrat, dripping in jewels as she posed in an impossibly intricate gown. Her blond hair and icy blue eyes seemed to transcend the canvas, yet there was something coy in her expression that made the viewer feel as though they shared an intimate secret with the woman in the painting.
“It is beautiful, breathtaking really. The details are so realistic yet there is an idealistic quality to it as well. I do not think I have ever seen anything like it,” Violet marveled as she knelt down to get a better look at the canvas. Tony’s gallery dealt almost exclusively in historic paintings and he often brought her some of the most interesting projects she worked on, but none compared to the painting in front of her. She was so engrossed in studying it that she did not realize that Tony was studying her.
“It must have been painted by a man who was very much in love,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
“What would you know about that?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.
“You know that I loved you,” he said, throwing his hands up in frustration.
“I know you think you did,” she said with a snort of derision. If he had cared as much about their relationship during their three years together as he had in the year since they broke up, they would have had a very different relationship. Now, each time he brought her a new project, he tried to convince her to take him back.
“Someday you will beg me to take you back,” he replied, looking at her in disbelief.
“If it has not happened in the last year I do not think it ever will,” she said dismissively, without ever taking her eyes off the woman in the painting.
“Then why do you keep doing work for me?” he asked, looking as though he suspected that their continued professional relationship was her way of keeping him in her life.
“The answer to that is simple,” she said as she turned around with a sweet smile.
“Enlighten me,” he asked, leaning in in expectation of her confession of her true feelings.
“You pay well and on time. You are my favorite kind of client,” she said with a wink.
“Is that all I am to you?” he said, frustrated.
“Yes,” she told him for the thousandth time.
“You know that girl meant nothing to me,” he said, speaking of the young artist that he had cheated on her with all those months ago.
“It was not the fact that you cheated that showed me we were wrong for each other,” she replied, not sure how it was possible that he still did not understand her.
“What on earth was it then?” he demanded.
“It was the fact that it did not hurt me when you did. If I really loved you, I would have wanted to fight for you. You cheating just showed me that I deserve more. I want someone I cannot live without. You and I were together because we were comfortable with each other. It was easy,” she said, truly sad for him that he thought what they had could be enough for anyone.
“You will not find anyone more perfect for you than me,” he snapped, looking more hurt than angry.
“I do not want perfect. I want passion and fury. I want fireworks,” she answered, trying to explain to him what it was that she needed. “If I cannot have that, I would rather be alone.”
“We had fireworks,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her in to his arms.
“We barely had matches,” she scoffed as she pulled away from him.
“That is not fair,” he said, his hand on his forehead in frustration.
“Love is not fair,” she stated simply.
“You will come around,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“I did not let you come here to talk about our past. You are here for professional reasons. Are you going to leave the canvas with me or not?” she asked, tired of fighting with him about the same thing again and again.
“Of course I am. You are the best,” he conceded.
“Then leave me to my work. I will call you when it is done,” she said, opening the door for him as he walked out and left her there alone to work.
She turned and looked at the smiling woman on the canvas, and was too eager to begin her restoration to wait. It wasn’t until she touched the frame in an attempt to carry it up to the studio, that the room around her began to spin and everything went dark.
Chapter 2
The next sensation that Violet felt was her body hitting the ground. Her first thought was that she had fainted in her studio, but as her senses began to return, she realized that she was lying on grass outdoors. Slowly, she opened her eyes and received the shock of her life. Instead of the yard around her home, she saw what was clearly a well-manicured park. She racked her brains, trying to think of any similar place near her home but she could think of nothing. She was so lost in her thought that she did not realize just how far from home she really was.
It was not until she heard someone clearing their throat behind her that she realized she was not alone. Her head snapped around and her eyes met those of one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. His hair was dark and unkempt as it hung over his dark eyes, reminding her of the heroes in the gothic romances that were her guilty pleasure to read. He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him, and it was clear that he was not pleased with the surprise.
“What are you doing here,” he demanded, standing up from behind what she realized was a painting easel. He used his hands when he spoke to punctuate his words and she could not help but notice that his hands were smudged with paint as hers often were.
“That depends. Where is here,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her head in confusion. Based on his accent, she was quite sure she was not in America any more.
“You are in Coventry Park,” he said, raising an eyebrow skeptically as he answered her.
“In London?” she asked in shock. She had been to the park before, many years before. She had spent a semester of college living in London and she had painted in the park often, though it was clearly a much different place than the one she remembered. His clothing and mannerisms in addition to the appearance of the park told her that she was very far from the time and places she knew. It was plain to her that she had somehow landed herself in Regency England.
“Yes,” he said curtly. “Are you from the continent?” he asked, looking as though he suspected her to be a criminal of some kind or another. She half expected him to call out to the authorities.
“Yes, I am an American,” she answered as she stood up, still a little unsteady on her feet.
“An American girl alone in Coventry park in the middle of the day?” he asked, sounding horrified by the lack of social propriety.
“I suppose so,” she said dismissively. She was hundreds of years and thousands of miles from her home. Her head was throbbing and she could feel her arm beginning to swell from where she had landed on it when she fell. The appearance of her impropriety was the last thing she cared to worry about.
“That makes no sense,” he continued, unwilling to let the subject drop.
“I am aware,” she snapped, annoyed at his continued presence. He clearly did not approve of her, and she had no desire to speak further with him. She kept waiting for him to walk away and leave her alone so that she could formulate a plan, but he seemed in no hurry to move along.